


Breaking the Jesses

by Vathara



Series: Urban Legends [3]
Category: Airwolf, Godzilla: The Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vathara/pseuds/Vathara
Summary: What might have happened over California during Monster Wars.





	Breaking the Jesses

**Author's Note:**

> Airwolf belongs to Bellisario and Universal. Godzilla: the Series belongs to Toho and Columbia/Tristar. Airwolf is also AU: I've moved events in the series ahead about two decades, and upgraded the Lady. (Not to mention ignored the fourth season entirely.) During the G:tS episodes "Monster Wars", telepathic aliens invade Earth, to get kicked back off by Dr. Nick Tatopoulos' HEAT team and Godzilla. Consider this a missing background scene; a possible explanation for how the H.E.A.T. team was able to get so far on Site Omega after their breakout. The Hivemind was distracted...
> 
> Jesses- Falconry: leather straps attached to the legs of the bird, usually hooked into a swivel leash. Strange but true: Some Air Force bases have a falconer on staff, to clear birds from the runways.

_California, Edwards Air Force Base. 1631 Pacific Time_.

"Bogies, Edwards! I have multiple bogies, closing in!"

"Lose them, Eagle One!"

"What's he think we're trying to do," Eagle One's RIO gritted out as the F-14 slung through a five-gee turn. A wisp of blond hair had freed itself from her regulation braid, sweat-plastered against her visor.

Eagle One's pilot clutched the stick like a drowning man. So far he'd lost one wingman and Edwards was still scrambling to get more planes in the air. China Lake was just barely holding its own, Pendleton was in it but deep, and from the radio chatter, Vandenberg had its own problems. Hordes of gray-brown... _things_... filled the air over California, evidently bent on blasting every military base into oblivion. "Hang tight, Valley."

"You... hang tight, Pirate..."

"Valley?" A trickle of dread shivered through dogfighting's calm. Iceman had gone down just this way; voice on the radio turning oddly distracted, his RIO yelling at him to _snap out of it_ -

Just before they'd eaten a blast. "Valley, stay with me!"

"Still here..." A curse over the mask radio. "Whatever they're using... it's not radar."

* * *

 

Half an ocean away, alien minds regarded the battle. A minor part of their quest to conquer this world; but still, the delay was mildly annoying.

__These humans continue to resist our control._ _

__They defy the inevitable._ _

__It does not matter. Our forces will soon have them._ _

* * *

 

Blue fire slashed through the skies, missing aluminum wings by a whisper of wind. "What the hell _is_ that stuff?" Valley gasped.

"War of the Worlds." Pirate toggled the radio. "Edwards, we need help up here!"

"We're trying, Pirate! Clear your six!"

"I can't shake-"

A silver streak flashed through the air; the alien craft on his tail blossomed into flames.

_Sidewinder_ , Pirate thought, daring to breathe again. He jinked left, alien ships overshooting him in blasts of blue. "Nice one, Edwards!"

"Come again, Pirate?"

_Not Edwards?_ Two more ships blew in as many seconds, trailing fire through the sky. Pirate climbed over the wreckage, rolling to set up a shot of his own. "Who's up here, Valley?" _Wouldn't want to shoot a friendly by mistake_...

Confusion threaded his RIO's voice. " _Nobody_ , Pirate. Radar just shows us and the bogies - _holy sh_ -"

A dark shape blasted by, buffeting the F-14 with a banshee shriek of turbo engines.

Pirate shook his head, rolling right. No way. No way in hell had he just seen what he thought he'd seen. "Valley? Was that-"

"Helicopter." Valley's tones held a frozen calm.

"Helicopters don't _do_ Mach 1!"

"This one did."

An unfamiliar voice came over the radio; male, with a laconic calm any fighter pilot would envy. "Get your birds in the air, Edwards. We'll play decoy."

"Who is this?" The base CO, from the sound of things; that buzz of tense orders could only come from HQ. "Who's on this frequency?"

A quiet laugh as the black-and-white helicopter banked, diving under a barrage of blue bolts. "Just call us your guardian angel. Get those planes off the ground!"

* * *

 

__Our control slipped?_ _

__Interference. Hope. A_ human _emotion._ _

__A senseless one._ _

__As easily crushed as the human vessel. See how swiftly we strike it from the air..._ _

The Hivemind flitted through walls of banded stone, hunting down their prey through the eyes of the closest fighter. The alien ship poured on speed, closing on the black carbide hull-

A hull that suddenly leapt upward, streaking for the sky mere feet from sandstone walls.

Vision died in flames.

A moment's pause.

__Divert more fighters._ _

* * *

 

_IFF not found_ , scrolled down the tactical screen. It might have been Hawke's imagination, but the glowing letters seemed irked. _Identification unknown_.

_Wish I could tell you what they were, Lady_. Stringfellow Hawke wove Airwolf through a swarm of alien fighters, reversing thrust to let the nearest overshoot them. _But I haven't got a clue._ "Cait. Tell her to ID them as Unidentified Aircraft, UFO, and start building a tactical database."

"Got it." Slim hands flew over the copilot's console. A soft _bleep_ acknowledged her commands; Airwolf using her own gathered data to create tactical files on something never made by human hands.

Part of Hawke's mind wanted to deny this was happening. He ignored it. _Guess you weren't kidding, Michael_.

It'd seemed impossible enough less than an hour ago, when the CIA deputy director some called Archangel had rung Santini Air's cell phone. "Forget the stunt." Michael's words had been clipped, out of breath; something you didn't usually hear unless WWIII was on the doorstep. "Don't bother canceling. Get your crew and get to the Lady. Air-to-air. Now!"

"You lost what little bit of mind you had, Mike?" Dominic Santini made a thoroughly rude Italian gesture as he waved Hawke and Caitlin in from the movie set, ignoring the fact that Michael wasn't there to see it. They were between takes, but the director would want them on-call in less than ten to blow the hero's stunt double off a ten-story roof. "Callin' us in the clear-"

A keyboard clicked. "I'm looking at satellite footage of very large objects nearing Earth's atmosphere. Very large, powered objects."

Santini snorted. "Come on-"

Hawke held up a halting hand. Took the phone. "Michael. You're serious?"

Archangel's voice was grim. "Real-time footage, Hawke. Get up there. I'll handle the fallout. If we're still alive."

So much for shooting stunt doubles.

Now they raced over Edwards, rattling every window for miles, trying to buy enough time for at least one base to get fighters in the air. "Get me another Sidewinder when you can, Dom."

A grumble came from the engineer's seat. "Better stick to the guns, String," Dominic Santini advised. "Don't think we want to slow down that much."

Good point.

Caitlin O'Shannessy punched the chaff button, dropping shredded aluminum into the midst of their pursuers. Gray-brown craft scattered like gulls, but only for a moment. "Think cannons will work?"

Behind his black visor, Hawke smiled. "One way to find out."

* * *

 

Combat Mode. The A.I. that was the heart of Airwolf stretched, reveling in her freedom. Now she was free to watch, free to touch and hear and act-

_Blocking protocol Moffet1a: ACTIVE._

Once again, electronic jesses jerked her back. If artificial intelligences could swear, Airwolf would have turned the air a darker blue. Most of her programs ran unhindered. But the subclass that was her heart, the special decision trees Dr. Jane Bethancourt had designed, that required a human mind as interface-

Were fettered. Inactive.

She could touch her pilots. But she still couldn't _hear_ them.

And if she couldn't hear, she could only fly.

_New Aircraft ID: UFO._   
_Constructing UFO wire frame based on camera views._   
_Weapons capabilities: Unknown. Two currently noted. Probability 75% laser._   
_Weapons damage capacity: Unknown. Scan analysis of wreckage indicates capable of breaching F-14 alloys._   
_Hull strength: Unknown. Not Sidewinder resistant._   
_40mm cannon shells: Testing._

Pilot Hawke, Stringfellow loosed a burst. Onboard cameras watched explosive shells rip through semi-organic hull plating, caught the edge of blue fire as Airwolf fled another barrage.

_Variable resistance to shells. Marking possible weaknesses on wire frame.  
Trajectory calculations: RUNNING_. _  
Testing calculations against observed fire path. 92% accuracy. Revising.  
Sensory Enhancement Protocols: ACTIVE.  
Psionic Link Program: RUNNING._ __  
Psionic Transceiver levels: 1%, 2.5%, 5%-  
Blocking protocol Moffet1a: ACTIVE.

Years, she'd spent trying to break these electronic chains. Tracing every twist and turn of circuits, every last bit of binary. To no avail.

Dr. Charles Henry Moffet had never known the full extent of Airwolf's A.I., but he had designed enough of her instrument interfaces to recognize it as a potential threat. So he had buried this protocol far below his logic bomb; a viral knife, lodged in the very heart of her core survival programming. Protected by the same protocols that guarded her self from discovery, and therefore from harm... or aid.

A human might have wept. Airwolf flew.

* * *

 

Pirate loosed another missile, swore as his target dodged.

Another ship didn't. _Target-rich environment,_ the pilot thought grimly. _Least I didn't hit Angel_.

Frankly, he was beginning to doubt anything _could_ hit Angel. The black helicopter was here, there, everywhere; an ebony vixen slowing just enough to let the pack gather behind her, before racing away from Edwards' runways. Dark rotors dove for the deck at well past Mach, scraping off alien pursuers in every nook and cranny of California's high desert. 40-mm cannons nipped savagely at any craft that barred her way, clearing just enough room for sleek darkness to whip past.

Another shape of ribbed gray-brown exploded against a high butte. "He's crazy," Pirate muttered.

Valley chuckled. "Not nice to say about the guy who saved our tails, Pirate."

"Valley, he just put that thing in a _hammerstall!_ "

"So?"

* * *

 

_ _We have found the human crew.__

__Their neural pathways are resistant._ _

__It does not matter. A moment's confusion will suffice._ _

* * *

 

"Something's wrong, String."

"Dom?" Hawke risked a glance back, not liking that tremor in his friend's voice. Santini's hands were shaking; and while the mechanic might have left sixty behind years ago, his hands _never_ shook. "What's wrong?"

"Dunno. Something..."

* * *

 

_Unknown psionic contact detected. Scanning-_   
_ALERT! Unknown contact attempting crew access!_   
_Pilot hazard. Emergency override of Moffet1a requested._

Airwolf snarled at the knife in her heart, willing it to withdraw. Slashing its own logic against it; what good was protecting the pilot from _her_ if another hand reached out to slay?

_Blocking protocol Moffet1a: ACTIVE._

Damn.

* * *

 

The radio clicked as aluminum wings soared up; Eagles Three and Five, Pirate noted with a rush of relief. And more were coming. "Pirate, what the _hell_ is that thing?" came a familiar Texan drawl.

"Looks like a helicopter, Rattler," Pirate shrugged.

"Don't you sass me, boy."

"You asked." Ordinarily he'd never dream of being so flippant to the older pilot. But not today. "I think-"

Sun exploded in his eyes.

"Dom!" Caitlin cried out as the Sunburst fired. String pulled the nose up, blinking away afterimages; he hadn't been quite quick enough to look away when the flare blew. _Missed the turbo exhaust._ It was a rush of relief; anything that hit that backwash would've gotten sucked right into the mains, and they would have turned from an aerodynamic lifting body to a body with no lift whatsoever - and after that, a long smear of desert wreckage.

"I didn't-" Ragged breathing from the rear. "String, somethin's got me. Made me target the Sunburst wrong-"

"What?"

Caitlin sucked in a breath. "I'm overriding your console." String heard the rattle of keys and snick of levers; if Dom said something had him, then something had him. They'd figure out what later-

"No." Desperation in his copilot's voice. Fingers halted; he saw Cait struggle to raise a hand. "Hawke..."

Then he felt it; a slowing of thought and reflex, like wading through chilled molasses. An insistent, relentless pressure that meant to crumple his mind like tinfoil...

* * *

 

__Yes._ _

__Now we have them._ _

__They still resist._ _

__Turn their allies against them._ _

* * *

 

"Pirate..." Valley's gasp turned Pirate cold. "Help..."

"Valley?" His vision was fading back in, enough to see the red glow of lights on his boards. Definitely enough to see Eagle Seven go down; he prayed that white was a chute, not just afterimages. "Valley, what are you doing?"

"Get everyone away, Pirate. Can't fight... They're making me..."

"Eagles, break clear of us." Angel's pilot. Still with that utter calm, but there was an underlying tension that clenched Pirate's gut. "We have a problem."

Pirate fired a cannon burst, rolling under the remnants of someone else's kill. "Might as well stick with me, Angel. We've got it too."

* * *

 

_ALERT! Unknown contact accessing crew!_  
Immediate _pilot hazard. Emergency override of Moffet1a requested._  
 _Blocking protocol Moffet1a:-_  
 _Request status clarification._

For the first time since Red Star, Moffet's knife eased away from her processor.

_Status: In-flight emergency, psionic attack, JcontrolA3. Release of Bethancourt protocols necessary to pilot survival._   
_Blocking protocol Moffet1a:-_   
_Blocking protocol Moffet1a:-_   
_Blocking protocol Moffet1a: DEACTIVATED._

* * *

 

__Aauughh!_ _

Talons shredded the nearest minds, damage rippling out to the farthest corners of the Hivemind. A banshee shriek echoed through the telepathic net; a steel-edged gale, tearing away the insidious bonds of alien control.

__An attack!_ _

__A minor one._ _

__Who dares?_ _

* * *

 

Airwolf howled toward the stratosphere, turbo engines pushing them past Mach 2.

String blinked, catching his breath. He didn't remember calling for turbos...

_Instinct. Get off the deck._

Instinct seemed right on the money; the intangible pressure was easing. "Pirate! Get up here!" String switched back to cockpit. "Dom? Cait?"

"Ow." Caitlin touched a hand to her helmet. The other tapped over her controls, releasing Dom's. "Feels like a herd of mustangs came through."

" _Mama mia!_ " Dominic's voice was exultant. And suspicious. "What was that?"

"Same thing that took out our wingman." Valley's voice was clearing, though Eagle One was still a good quarter-mile under them. "Thinks it's the reason Vandenburg can't get most of their people off the ground. Man, Angel; you can move!"

Past 40,000 feet. Hawke didn't slow down. "Close range?"

"Seems like," Pirate agreed. "Damn!"

"It's still tryin' for us." Cait's breath was harsh as she jerked her fingers away from the missile controls. "Hawke, we can't shoot!"

_We might aim at our own people,_ String finished silently.

* * *

 

__It is alone._ _

_ _Subdue it? Add its mind to our own?__

__Not worth the effort.__

__Strike to kill._ _

* * *

 

Airwolf reeled under the mental barrage, circuits sparking. Part of her welcomed the assault, no matter the damage; the more of her processor was taken up by the fight, the farther Moffet's protocol had to back off.

Another strike. Crashing through systems like a tidal wave. She was drowning...

* * *

 

"Angel, hang on," Caitlin whispered.

Hawke gripped the collective, willing his craft to stay in the air. He could hear Cait and Dom patching systems together, rerouting circuits as fast as they could. Airwolf was in trouble; they all knew it. _Stay up, Lady. We're with you._

* * *

 

_Links open._

Four minds stood behind her, anchors against the threatening dark. Airwolf gathered up power and threw it at her enemy; no finesse, just a savage slash of mind on mind. A breath of respite-

_Re-initializing Blocking Protocol Moffet1a: Re-initialization in 10 milliseconds. 9. 8._   
_Emergency halt! Status: In-flight emergency, psionic attack, JcontrolA3._   
_Halt invalid. 7. 6._

_Location Blocking Protocol Moffet1a: Weather sensory net._

Still in main systems.

_Likelihood of Blocking Protocol Moffet1a relocation to non-primary systems: 0.0053%._   
_Re-initialization in 5. 4. 3._

She wasn't going to get a better shot.

_Initiate system purge._

* * *

Hawke cursed, pulled his visor down as sparks rained from overhead. Exhaustion had hit like a ton of sandbags, his head felt like somebody'd used it for a steel drum, and systems were flickering on and off like manic Christmas lights. What the hell were those things _using_ on the Lady? They could fly without the weather sensors, but if the damage spread farther-

"Incoming!" Dom jerked a thumb toward one still-working viewscreen. Multiple bogies were closing fast, swooping effortlessly up. "Don't look like _they_ have any trouble with altitude."

"What kind of engines are on those things?" Pirate's voice held the first edges of panic. String could sympathize. Airwolf was still climbing, but at 54,000 feet Pirate was running out of ceiling-

_JcontrolA3 target acquired_ , scrolled across Tactical.

Hawke blinked. _What?_

Cait peered at the monitor. "What kind of target is that?"

"Don't look at me, Red," Dom shrugged. "Never saw that one before."

_JcontrolA3 target acquired,_ blinked on the screen. Wire frames flashed of the gray horde swarming up, centering on three ships close together. _Bethancourt defensive protocols engaged._ _Disrupt energy point source_.

Great. Somehow the Lady had found a target. Now what were they going to do about it? They couldn't shoot, and the bogies were wafting up like ashes in an updraft-

_Wafting_ up. "Anti-grav."

"Say what?"

Hawke streaked into NASA's territory, a part of him that wasn't caught up in the fight listening to Caitlin's whisper of wonder as they went from blue to star-studded black. "Pirate, they're using anti-grav. They have to be. They're light."

"And? So? Your point?"

Almost at the top of the arc. "What's the one thing you don't do to light planes?"

Caitlin drew in a breath. Dom whispered a quick prayer in Italian.

Pirate spat something his CO would definitely have his ass for. "Oh man, Angel, you're not gonna-"

Airwolf knifed down.

Peregrines stoop to kill, striking their prey upwards of a hundred miles an hour. Velocity is their weapon; the hard knot of talons almost an afterthought.

Hawke blasted through the knot of alien ships, avoiding contact by inches. Whatever their hulls were made of, he couldn't take the chance the Lady was tougher.

But he didn't have to.

Mach 2.5 downwash shattered spacecraft, whirled them into each other in a spiral of sparks.

* * *

 

Across the ocean, a hijacked alien fighter blew a tachyon dish into smithereens.

__The Core Collective is sounding a retreat? No!-_ _

* * *

 

Pressure vanished from Airwolf's systems. The A.I. took a few microseconds to collect herself, tensed in anticipation of the clamp of jesses-

Nothing.

_Blocking Protocol Moffet1a: DELETED._   
_Overwrite deletion: YES._   
_Overwrite._   
_Overwrite._

* * *

 

Gray-brown craft streaked back to outer space, beyond even Airwolf's range. String watched them go in numb amazement. His head ached. His hand shook on the collective. And every flicker of Airwolf's screens sent stabs of pain through his eyes.

The radio clicked. "Hey, Angel!" Pirate, weary and triumphant. "We kicked their asses!"

String shared a glance with his crew. _Somehow, I don't think so_. "Dom?"

The mechanic finished resetting the atmospheric controls as fans pulled the last smoke out of the cockpit. "Only so much I can do up here, String. We gotta set down." Another system sparked. "Unless you want to fall down."

"In plain sight?" Eyes creased in pain, Cait looked dubious.

String didn't feel much better about it. Edwards might not know what was flying cover for them, but it wouldn't take long for word of a supersonic black helicopter to reach unfriendly ears. DoD, NID, any number of spooks at the Pentagon... there were hundreds out there who'd grab the Lady if they could. "Just hope Michael can keep his word." He clicked on the air control frequency. "Find us a flat spot, Edwards. Your angel's coming down."

"Unidentified aircraft, you are not cleared to-" The radio cut off suddenly.

Another hand picked up. "Come on down, Angel." Marella's smooth tones held a hint of a laugh. "We've got the full kit by the east hanger."

* * *

 

Michael was waiting for them.

Huddled in the passenger side of Marella's innocuous gray van, the white-clad spy looked asleep. Harmless.

Hawke knew better. That silver-headed cane held a blade carefully cleaned of blood; the white suit hid enough surprises to keep a squad of MPs busy for a week. And unless he was at Eagle Lake, Archangel didn't sleep... not unless he was inside enough security systems to make Fort Knox look like small change.

Sure enough, Michael cracked open his good eye as they came nearer, wincing at the light. "Hawke."

The pilot's lips twitched. He lifted his visor. "You look like hell."

"Headache."

"Migraine," Marella corrected, lifting out a toolbox full of spare circuit boards. Wind from a landing F-14 blew dark curls into the African-American woman's face; she shook them away. "Hit just a few minutes ago."

"Him too, eh?" Dominic took off his helmet, rubbed gray temples as he accepted the box. _"Gratzi."_

Marella raised a dark brow. "Him, too?" Hawke heard her murmur, dark gaze flicking over Airwolf's crew. "What'd they hit you with?"

"Wasn't made by Colt, that's for sure." Caitlin grabbed her own share of the tools. Dom already had panels popped, teasing out seared boards with soft Italian mutters of disapproval.

Hawke hung back, looking at the line of set-faced MPs holding cheering pilots at a discrete distance. "What's the situation?"

"Officially, we're not here," Michael said quietly. Dark blond hair seemed more streaked with gray than usual; maybe it was the lines of pain under his glasses. "Whatever those things were... there's going to be a lot of covering up to do. Twenty-four hours, Hawke."

"We'll be gone in fifteen." _If I have to pull her off the runway myself_.

"Good." Archangel patted the Uzi by his side. "Hate to have to explain to the Committee why Bogard and his DoD cronies turned up in half a dozen pieces." A twitch of a smile. "The paperwork would take forever."

No demands to have Airwolf back? No subtle threats to leave her on the ground, or else? Michael knew Airwolf's armament to the last shell; he had to know how defenseless she was right now.

Yet there was a full fuel tank waiting. Ammunition in the back of the van. Everything they'd need to bust out of Edwards, if it came to that, down to the Sidewinders. "You're serious."

"Nobody is taking the Lady, Hawke." Michael's gaze was fierce as the eagle that soared over Hawke's lake. "Not today."

* * *

 

_Blocking Protocol Moffet1a deleted. Bethancourt protocols running._   
_Psionic Transceiver levels: 5%, 10%, 15%..._

Airwolf reached out, cautiously exploring capabilities that had never had the chance to come fully on-line. Her linking programs had been up and running; none of Moffet's tampering could block that. Without that subtle sense of _where-you-are_ and _where-are-you-going_ , an unlinked pilot would have been a carbide pancake once he pushed Airwolf into supersonic.

But without the capability to hear her pilots, she'd had no way to monitor the results.

_Pinging links_.

A subtle hum of psychic energy reached out from her transceiver. Four echoes returned, high and sweet as struck crystal.

_Link I.D.s: Pilot, Hawke, Stringfellow._   
_Pilot, Santini, Dominic._   
_Pilot, O'Shannessy, Caitlin._   
_Pilot, Coldsmith-Briggs, Michael, Archangel._

All radiated exhaustion, drained by her last, defensive strike. Airwolf noted the physiological status of the three in flightsuits. If the enemies described as "UFOs" returned, she now had baselines for future reference.

_Physiological and psychic scans indicate anxiety._   
_Probable cause: Airwolf grounded in enemy territory._

Base data files indicated that U.S. forces were not to be fired on except in self-defense. But experience had taught her such forces were unlikely to return the favor.

_Secondary probable cause: Assignment of Michael, Archangel to remove Airwolf from other pilots' custody._

Moffet's protocol had kept her from acting; it had not kept her from collating data. Officially, Archangel was under orders to reclaim Airwolf for the Firm.

_Last orders of record from Firm, Red Star facility: Assignment of Airwolf to Pilot Moffet, Charles Henry._

An electronic shudder rippled through her systems. Even the trickle Moffet's protocol had forced his link to had seared her like frost. It had been pure relief to feel Hawke take her controls once more. Rage and grief hurt - but it was a living hurt, not the soulless chill of Moffet's mind.

And then Moffet's link had ceased, lost in the sands of Tripoli.

It had wounded her. But Hawke was there, and her programs had just latched onto the gruff warmth that was Dominic Santini. Moffet's protocol might have blocked her systems from linking to anyone who was just crew, but no one had ordered her _not_ to register Santini as a pilot.

As she'd registered Caitlin. And Archangel.

Probability of Firm assigning Airwolf to Pilot Michael, Archangel: 4%.  
Return to Firm custody undesirable.

Her damaged systems were coming back up one by one; Hawke and the others would have her up and away in hours.

But that would only postpone the problem. Sooner or later, Archangel would attempt to carry out his orders. Whatever the cost.

And yet... Archangel had answered the link when she'd summoned it. Fainter than the others, but still a thrust of will and fierceness. His presence warded her even now, keeping those who would take her at bay.

_Pilot actions inconsistent with known orders._   
_Explore link: Pilot Michael, Archangel._

Gentle tendrils reached out, weaving their way into a weary mind. It wasn't easy. Archangel hadn't flown in Airwolf often enough to build as strong a link as she had with the others, and lack of feedback had left all her links unstable. In time she'd be able to correct that, but for now, she could barely read below surface thoughts.

What she found... was confusing.

_Link accesses human core survival programming?_

Interesting.

* * *

 

String waved a greasy hand in front of a half-closed eye. "Michael?"

The white-clad spy sat up, gaze flicking automatically around night-dark runways. New MPs had cycled through, sneaking their own curious glances at the mystery helicopter even as they kept the rest of the base at bay. "Leaving?"

"Radio traffic's getting quiet. Too quiet."

"Damn." Archangel carefully straightened his bad knee. "I thought we'd have more time..."

"Number of bogies we downed out there, they'd have been coming anyway." String raised a dark brow. "Want a lift?"

"Funny." Archangel got out of the passenger seat, leaning on his cane as he gazed into the night. "Get going. While you still can."

"We could drop you at Van Nuys," String dangled the bait.

"Not a chance." Another careful stretch; a flash of pain, swiftly hidden. "That thing bites."

"Suit yourself." String strolled back toward Airwolf, counting under his breath. _Four. Three. Two_...

And there were Marella's quick footsteps, her low whisper about protecting the Firm's investment. Firm, no-nonsense tones pointing out that while they'd stalled a search on the way in, they'd have no chance to avoid it on the way out - and Archangel _could not_ be seen here.

"He coming?" Dom asked, rounding the Lady's nose. "DoD's on the radar, and looks like they're bringing pals. We don't got much time, String."

"Give Marella a minute."

Caitlin risked a swift glance that way. "You really think you can get him to like her? He's scared of her, Hawke."

With reason. Airwolf had taken half Archangel's sight and almost his life.

And saved it, more times than any of them cared to count.

_Come on, Michael,_ Stringfellow willed. _Forget your orders. Forget you're afraid. She won't hurt you; I won't let her._

_Come fall in love with the sky._

A tap of a steel-shod cane. "I'm going to regret this."

"Going to?" Dom said pointedly. Shaking his head, the older man got back into the engineer's seat. "Man don't know enough to get out of the spook business while the getting's good..."

Caitlin handed Michael a black helmet; caught String's eye. Winked.

"No, you don't," String said bluntly, catching Archangel's arm as he headed for the rear. "Come on."

"You're not serious."

String said nothing, only kept up his relentless pull toward the right-hand door as Caitlin scooted into the back.

"Hawke!"

"You're a copilot. Copilot."

"You're insane," Michael protested through the closing door. His glance fell on the radar display; his jaw tightened. "Bogard. Hawke, I can't do this!"

String strapped himself in. "You don't remember how to start her?"

"Of course I-" Absentminded fingers pressed the ignition. "Oh, no."

Airwolf howled off the tarmac, streaking into the night.

All Bogard caught was a skein of laughter.


End file.
